At the end of the third act of Verdi's “Il Trovatore,” with the orchestra raging and the drama reaching a fever pitch, the tenor steps out to the front of the stage and crowns the aria “Di quella pira” with a sustained high C.

In the San Diego Opera production, which opened Saturday at the Civic Theatre, you had to admire tenor Dario Volonte's courage. He had arrived in town only days earlier to fill in for Nicola Rossi Giordano in the pivotal role of Manrico, and as he did through the entire performance, he held nothing back. He stepped forward, took a deep breath, and made a mighty sound that must have cut clear through to the back row of the theater.

Given the amount of force and strain involved, the sound wasn't pretty. And Volonte appeared to run out of breath. Still, like this innovative production directed by Stephen Lawless and conducted by Edoardo Muller, it was close enough, and just the sheer effort involved deserved applause.

With its absurd, nearly incoherent plot of vengeance, lust and unconscious sibling rivalry, and its old fashioned set pieces, “Il Trovatore” is generally considered a singers' opera. It's best not to think about the story's many contradictions and implausibilities and just bask in some of Verdi's most inspired music.

But Lawless, who with set designer Benoit Dugardyn, conceived this production for the Los Angeles Opera in 1998, was not content to leave well enough alone. So we get swords everywhere: a stage with swords sticking up like wildflowers, the clanking of swords replacing the clanking of anvils in the famous “Anvil chorus,” Leonora taking up a sword late in the opera, even a sword hanging from the ceiling in several scenes (OK, we get it).

And instead of castles and the like, there are giant wood panels used in different configurations to evoke rather than represent the opera's changing physical and psychological landscape.

Leonora, the poison taking effect, sings of her love for Manrico. Video

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Throughout much of the opera, Lawless' approach worked surprisingly well, especially in the ensemble scenes, Lawless is not a director who allows the chorus to just stand around (in contrast to the San Diego Opera's earlier productions this season). The second scene of the first act, in the gypsy's camp, was especially intriguing. In most productions you get some half-asleep gypsies clanging away on an anvil or two. Lawless had them (sword) playing with their captives. (Who even knew the gypsies had captives?)

But Lawless and Dugardyn failed to deliver where the opera needed it the most: in the final act. The set, especially in the last scene, where the gypsy Azucena and her son Manrico were in separate cells, got in the way of the interactions between the characters rather than reinforcing them. And despite the graphic nature of the production, with those swords and piles of dead bodies, for the opera's most dramatic moment, Manrico's death (of course he died, this is grand opera), Manrico just meanders off the stage, and then we hear from the Count di Luna that he's dead.

It's not fair to blame the loss of momentum in the final act entirely on the sets and direction. Muller and the orchestra, which had kept the pot boiling throughout most of the production, seemed to also lose a little steam as they headed for home.

And the cause was not aided by Paoletta Marrocu, as Leonora, the love interest of both Manrico and the Count. The final act is a showcase for the soprano, but Marrocu seemed unable to inhabit, let alone project, the large emotions suffered by her character. She has a large enough voice, an edge that cuts through the orchestra, and enough flexibility to negotiate the role's bel canto moments, but her singing has a generic, unnuanced quality.

Marrocu also appeared to have little chemistry with Volonte, but more than that, she just seemed to be singing for its own sake, rather than the sake of the drama.

In contrast, for Marianne Cornetti, who portrayed a powerful, compelling Azucena, there was no separation between her voice and her character. It wasn't just magnificent singing, it was as if each utterance moved the drama forward. She was always connecting with someone on stage, even when she was making her case directly to the audience. She was so convincing, that when she was on stage, the plot didn't seem so absurd after all.

Baritone Alexandru Agache, as Count di Luna, was equal to Cornetti in intensity (and as his officer, Ferrando, Hao Jiang Tian also showed a strong, burnished voice). Agache came across as surprisingly human for someone who has left the stage strewn with bodies in fulfillment of some misplaced jealousy and sexual compulsion.

As the Count's rival, Manrico, Volonte was fearless, and showed a smooth, rich sound in his middle register. But he was unable to sustain that unforced vocal character into his higher register, where he often sounded strident.

Given its unusually pronounced role, the chorus was akin to a character. Prepared by Timothy Todd Simmons, it was impressive in the first act for both its precision and its ardor. But it sounded more tentative as the opera continued, especially in the second act scene where the Count is planning to abduct Leonora before she can join the convent.

Still, the chorus' enthusiasm and commitment was commendable. Like everything else in this production, it was close enough.